


False Danish Dogs

by colderblue



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, READ IT ITS GOOD, Violence, sorta slow burn??? not really its a short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 10:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16721595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colderblue/pseuds/colderblue
Summary: Where instead of agreeing with Claudius to kill Hamlet, Laertes kills Claudius instead.





	False Danish Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so Hamlet is a TOTAL fuckin g twink  
> Hamlets props 18-22 and Laertes is probably 25-30?? idk when reading the play thats just kinda what I felt  
> also i didnt edit so theres probs typos

Laertes stormed into the throne room, sword raised as he set his gaze upon the king. “Vile King.” He spat, “give me my father.” The news of his father’s death, his murder in the queen’s own bedchamber, set a fire in Laertes blood. He traveled back to Denmark as fast as he could, his fury fueling the wind in the sails. 

“Calm, good Laertes,” said Queen Gertrude, face white, and she shrank back as Laertes turned his glare onto her. As the king spoke, Laertes sheathed his sword and listen. The king’s words did nothing to calm his soul. It was Prince Hamlet that was to blame, claimed Claudius, the prince had gone mad. Laertes was almost convinced to turn his revenge on Hamlet when Ophelia entered.

Abandoning the royals, he strode towards her, taking in her ravaged and strange disposition. The light in her eyes was gone, the curls in her lank and drooping. But as she spoke and sang, Laertes saw the madness in her soul.

How could two in the castle become mad in such little time? And not just any two, but those with power? The prince, and the advisors daughter, minds poisoned under Claudius’ rule. Neither youth could be blamed for their actions, clearly there was some ill trickling down from the gold and jewels of the crown. As the courtiers watched Ophelia babble, transfixed, Laertes slowly drew his sword and crept behind Claudius, and with one stroke the King lay dead.

Laertes yelled for his men, and they erupted into the throne room, standing at his back. “The King,” Laertes said, voice booming, as he looked over the courties, gaze lingering on Ophelia’s weepy smile, the blood splattered on Queen Gertrude’s rozen face. “The King has perished, and his cursed hold on Denmark is no more.” 

“King Laertes!” His men shouted, one ducking by the body and pulling the crown off of Claudius brow, wiping it on his sleeve before presenting it to Laertes.

Laertes smiled slightly, and placed it on his brow. “King Laertes,” he said quietly, “King Laertes indeed.”  
-  
Laertes was sitting upon the throne when Hamlet arrived. It was a few days after Claudius death, a week before Laertes official confirmation. Hamlet burst through the doors, and Laertes chuckled slightly at how similar it was to his own entrance days before. The guards immediately aimed their spears at the youth, who lowered the point of his sword slightly.

“Laertes.” Said Hamlet, manic energy burning through his body. “I commend you for your actions, but Claudius’ life was mine to take. He killed my father,” grief tore through Hamlet’s face, and Laertes marveled at the range of emotions so out in the open. “I’ll fight you for the throne,” he said, raising his sword again.

“You won’t.” Laertes replied, “I won’t allow it, Hamlet.” The prince bristled at being referred to without his title. 

“Coward.” Hamlet said, stepping forward, “you’re naught but a coward.” The guards closed ranks, pushing Hamlet back once more. “Don’t set your dogs on me, Laertes!” he spat, “Come and speak to me for yourself!”

“You’re not well, Hamlet.” Said Laertes placatingly. “Nor is my sister, nor is Denmark. I will fix this kingdom. I am King.” He motioned to one of the guards, and in a smooth and practiced move Hamlet was disarmed and pushed him to his knees, his hands held behind his back. Laertes stepped down from the throne, making calculated strides towards the prince. He crouched before Hamlet, who bared his teeth and spat at him. He didn’t react, but gently took Hamlet’s “This is for the best, one day you’ll thank me.” He stood up, and looked away from the fire burning in Hamlet’s eyes. “Take him to his room.” The guards dragged Hamlet out, kicking and yelling the whole way.

Laertes returned to the throne. Hamlet would learn that Laertes was helping Denmark, freeing it from the venomous bite of the old monarchs.  
-  
Three days later, Laertes visited Hamlet. He had just visited Ophelia, and clutched a flower from her in his hand.The guards moved aside and let him enter, and Laertes took a deep breath before pressing past them. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting really, perhaps a trashed room, broken furniture.

Hamlet’s bedchamber was pristine, clean. The books lining his shelves all had their spines perfectly aligned, dishes from his meals piled neatly on a small table. The bed was pristing, as if Hamlet hadn’t slept. “Hamlet?” Laertes called lowly, “I’d like to speak with you.” 

There was movement on the thick stone window bench, dark grey furs that had previously been camouflaged in shadow shifting to show a pale face and blond hair. Hamlet looked bad, he clearly was tired, but at least the empty dishes proved he was eating. “What’s to talk about?” He said, “You’ve stolen my revenge, my kingdom, what else could you want?” Hamlet said wearily, voice lacking its previous rage. “Do you want to kill me Laertes? Do you want to murder me like I did your father?” The mocking words lacked any real malice, and as Hamlet drug his eyes up meet Laertes, he saw an emptiness in their depths.

Laertes avoided Hamlet’s questions. “You’ll be keeping your title as prince,” he said lightly, “would you like any visitors? I could call Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, perhaps Horatio?” Hamlet looked away, eyes trailing the snowflakes that fell on just the other side of the window, separated by mere inches. 

“I’d like to see Horatio.” He said quietly, tangling his fingers through the thick fur. The blanket slipped off his shoulder, and Laertes saw that he was wearing only a loose tunic and thin leggings. He reached to replace the blanket where it was. 

“I’ll send him soon,” Laertes said, rising to leave. He was near the door when Hamlet called out to him.

“Wait,” Hamlet said. “What was it like? Killing him?” 

Laertes paused a moment. “I did what I had to.” He replied. “Claudius was the one who caused my father’s death Hamlet, not you. We were both just pawns in his plot.” Hamlet nodded slightly. 

“Is Ophelia doing better?” Hamlet asked, averting his eyes. Laertes sighed, unsurprised that his sister’s state had reached the prince. 

“She’s in shock.” He said. “Too much has happened at once for poor Ophelia. The doctors and healers that I’ve hired seem hopeful that in time she might recover her mind.” He looked at Hamlet again, eyes trailing along his jawline. “I’m hopeful for your recovery too.”

Hamlet looked up at him. “I’m not mad.” He said, “It was an act, to find out my uncle’s plot.” Laertes shook his head slightly. 

“It may have started as such, but you’re not well.” Laertes said.

“Maybe,” Hamlet mumbled. They sat in silence for a while, and Laertes watched as the prince fell asleep, eventually carrying Hamlet to his bed. He remember the flower in his grasp, and laid the marigold next to Hamlet’s pillow.

“For grief.” He said.  
-  
Weeks passed. Laertes grew into his role as king, learning how to rule Denmark. He’d made peace with Fortinbras, forging a connection between himself, Fortinbras, and Hamlet in the spilt blood of their fathers. Hamlet was allowed out of Elsinore, with a guard, but rarely left his room. Horatio had visited him nearly every day, but eventually had to return to his studies. Ophelia and Hamlet had seen each other a few times, but each became uncomfortable around the other, so the meetings were brief.

Laertes visits to Hamlet increased. Hamlet’s face began to light up when Laertes appeared, and he began seeing out the others touch. It was in small ways, fingers brushing as they passed a book or a jar of sugar, Hamlet’s bony shoulders pressing against laertes when they sat.

“Laertes,” Hamlet said, one say, glancing through strands of blond hair. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Laertes look at him, surprised.

“Of course,” He said, “After all, what happened the last time the king and prince disliked each others?” He joked. Hamlet laughed, nudging his shoulder.

“I’m glad.”  
-  
Things could always last, in the peace that Laertes had forged. Claudius still had supporters, and once they’d grown enough in numbers, they stoned Elsinore. Laertes saw Ophelia too safety, and searched through the battle for Hamlet.

The prince stood surrounded by enemies, blade flashing, blood splashed on his face. Laertes heart sunk when he saw the same crazed look Hamlet had met him with so many weeks ago. They fought, back to back for what felt like hours until Laertes heard Hamlet’s scream.

“Laertes!” Shouted Hamlet, terror and pain bleeding into his voice, “Laertes!” Laertes turned, and saw Hamlet being dragged off by three men, blood sluggishly bleeding from a gash on his forehead. Laertes saw red.

He didn’t remember the rest of the battle, but Claudius men lay bleeding on the castle floor, and he cradled Hamlet’s unconscious body in his arms.  
-  
The battle changed Laertes, he’d had Ophelia moved into the rooms across from him, and moved Hamlet to his own rooms to heal, himself sleeping on the floor. Hamlet was sick with fever as he healed, and Laertes only left his bedside when he knew someone was there to watch the prince. Ophelia, madness fading with time, pushed past her sadness to sit with him when Laertes was taken with kingly duties. 

Hamlet healed slowly, and as his health improved, Laertes possessiveness grew. He didn’t quite understand what he felt for Hamlet, but he knew that Hamlet was his. He held Hamlet’s weak hand in his whispering against the pale skin “mine, mine, mine.”

When Hamlet awoke without fever, he met Laertes eyes and whispered hoarsely, “yours.”  
-  
The battle and the illness set Hamlet’s progress back. He didn’t want to leave Laertes side. When Laertes was at his throne, he would stand at attention behind him. 

Laertes found himself enjoying Hamlet’s company. He was always willing to lean down and whisper a snarky remark in Laertes’ ear about whatever was going on in the throne room. 

Laertes commissioned a new crown for Hamlet, a delicate golden thing that rested gently on his head, with small blue gems that shone like Hamlets eyes. He’d presented it to Hamlet a year after becoming king. “You’re mine,” Laertes told him in private, “and my beautiful prince should always be shrouded in beautiful things.

Hamlet brought up the statement later. “So do your sheets count as beautiful things then? You seem intent on keeping me shrouded in them every night.” Laertes laughed, and leaned down to kiss him.

“Of course.”


End file.
